GAAAAAAAH! WE’RE MAAARRIED!!!
Yep. That’s us, folks. At our wedding last May. With me doing that scary neck-thing I sometimes do — apparently unaware that I had some strange tan lines going on…
Today I want to talk not about our wedding but rather about our wedding registry. Why? Because there’s a wealth of wedding-registry advice out there, but much of it wasn’t super useful to me when I was planning last year around this time. I see now, for instance, that much of the registry advice I encountered came from or was sponsored by stores that wanted me to set up a registry (with as many of their items as possible). Also, some advice is just totally unrealistic. I found The Knot’s registry check-list to be, quite frankly, ridiculous.
I’ve already talked a bit about my registry on the blog, mentioning that Manny and I were initially hesitant to set one up. After we got engaged, as we were dreaming and scheming, ix-naying the registry was something we agreed on immediately. This was to be a celebration of our love! Not a mad-grab for presents. But then family and friends weighed in. I distinctly remember my mom asking me the following question:
“Do you want nine blueberry spoons?”
“What,” I replied, “is a blueberry spoon?”
She sighed a knowing-sigh. “You’ll find out if you don’t have a registry.”
(Alabama Chanin dinnerware from Heath Ceramics)
I have a good friend who lives in San Francisco; I was visiting her shortly before I got engaged and when it came time to set up a registry I remembered what it was like to be in her house, where her wedding presents were being put to good use. I remembered, in particular, her quality plates, her wonderful cotton-y towels, and the lovely silver frames showing off her wedding pictures on the mantle. It all seemed at once homey and grown-up, which is a nice vibe to strive for in one’s post-nuptial homestead.
I also remember a story about a friend who hadn’t set up a registry. He was having some colleagues from work over for dinner and realized they didn’t have enough matching plates for this kind of entertaining. So there he was, a pot roast in the oven, high-tailing it to Williams-Sonoma for a dining set to the tune of something like eight hundred bones. That’s the cost of an international plane ticket, folks. Good-bye vay-cay.
My point is: Maybe you plan to invest in Nice Things in the future. But the future has a way of sneaking up on us all. Suddenly you wake up and don’t have enough towels for your guests or a group of work friends are on their way over and you can’t set the table.